


in the cold.

by shariling



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 00:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shariling/pseuds/shariling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And Arthur is fine in solitude, really, fine off on his own and with no one tending to him. It’s strange of course, but being King ensures that he doesn’t have much time to be on his own. It’s nice, sort of. Of course, with the knowledge of what is probably happening behind the tent a few feet away—and he dares not be hopeful for it, really, really—he’s not allowed to focus on much anything else. </p><p>But it’s silent. Silent enough that he thinks the other two men had fallen asleep automatically—but then he hears Merlin giggle and wants to cut his ears off.</p><p>» it's cold, and gwaine has a boner. that's literally it. «</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s a cold night. But cold implies that, perhaps you might see your breath, perhaps there’s an icicles lingering on some tall tree branch. In actuality, it’s a _freezing_ night, and Gwaine feels that with every breath he takes he just feels colder, hunched over with his hands nearly burning themselves on the fire Merlin had set up. Merlin himself is shivering beneath Gwaine’s knightly cloak, he’s a skinny thing, and Gwaine pities him from the violent shakes and sniffles he offers every so often. Arthur himself seems mainly unaffected, but he does lean closer towards the fire, and wipes his nose when he thinks no one is watching.

They had, of course, prepared for this. They’re not _idiots_ —at least, not all of them. Merlin was in charge of the tents, but as things go, they were attacked by a passing caravan of bandits, and Merlin had dropped all but one of the tents in the struggle to get away. By the time they had noticed, it would have been too dangerous to go back—and so, the tent sits, set up perfectly, and entirely uninhibited. Each man is far too noble to damn the other two to the blistering cold, and so they all freeze, like that’s some sort of brave solution.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, sniffling pathetically and pulling the red cape closer towards him. His cheeks and nose nearly match the color of it, but he covers his mouth too quickly to really compare it.

 “You’ve said. Many, many many times.” Gwaine is the air of confidence, but even his voice wavers in effect to the cold, and his _grin_ feels painful, like all of his muscles have frozen up. “You should take the tent, Merlin, you’re shaking.”

“I’m the one who lost the others in the first place. Arthur should take it.”

“Arthur’s fat enough to stay warm during the winter. Isn’t that right?” Gwaine turns his face only centimeters to send a look at Arthur, who’s been deadly silently through the whole night, save for the soft sniffs he breathes every so often.

He looks like he’s going to stay silent again, but after a moment he sighs, standing from his spot at a log he was perched on, and starting to pace. Presumably to get the blood flowing to be warmer—but watching him only helps to make Merlin feel _colder_ , and he buries his face further in the cape.

“Both of you _shut up_.” Arthur says, an edge of finality in his voice, that neither Gwaine nor Merlin feel particularly keen on breaking. A silence becomes them, and it’s impossibly quiet, chilled in the forest they’re at.

Gwaine breaks it. Gwaine and quiet don’t mix well.

“Just so we’re clear,” he starts, and he swears he hears Arthur immediately release a breath, like he was just _waiting_ for it. “We’re all going to freeze out here and leave the nice tent out for the bunnies to sleep in?”

“The bunnies,” Merlin repeats after him, amused. Arthur looks decidedly _less_ amused, almost as if the cold has drained any semblance of patience he had for Gwaine’s annoying banter.

“Why don’t you take the tent, Gwaine, and save me and Merlin from listening to your boorish complaints?” Arthur huffs, throwing his hands in the air while continuing to pace.

Gwaine, honestly, would take it in a heartbeat. He’s apparently not quite as generous as his friends here, and if someone was offering him just an _inch_ of warmth here—well, he’d take it. He’d take it in an instant, if he weren’t deliciously _hard_ in his pants; he’d take it if standing up didn’t mean revealing the arousal he’s sporting, in the freezing cold, in the midst of his best friends. He doesn’t know _why_ he’s in this state, and he’s not gallant enough to say it’s Merlin’s—or heaven forbid the _King’s_ —fault, but.

Well, it _is_.

“That’s not a solution, _King,”_ Gwaine snorts back, shaking his head with a teasing smile. “Here's one: why don’t we _all_ take the tent?”

Merlin seems to perk up at the thought of having a reason to get into the tent without feeling bad—but he quickly descends back into his cocoon, wiping his nose on the material.

“The tent’s not big enough for the three of us,” he says, eventually.

“Body heat will keep us warmer.” Gwaine thinks it’s a relatively good retort, given that he’d come up with it off the top of his head. _Maybe_ his erection is talking right now, happy at the potential to have other bodies close to him right now. At least he’s a quick thinker.

“I’m not _cuddling_ you, Gwaine.” And Arthur speaks up and just about _ruins_ any thought Gwaine had to getting slightly laid today. Gwaine shakes his head, running some fingers through his hair. He sends a teasing look over to King, standing and playing the shudder he gives off as a stretch from being cramped up.

“Ashamed of your preferences, Arthur?”

“From the looks of it, _I’m_ not the one who should be ashamed.”

And naturally, because fate hates Gwaine, Arthur draws attention to the tenting in front of Gwaine’s pants with an accusatory point. Merlin giggles to himself, shaking from the cold, but seemingly unable to fight his fit of laughter.

“Yes. _Well._ ” But Gwaine is not embarrassed, not now nor ever, and he shrugs helplessly as if you couldn’t expect anything better of him. “I’ll take the tent then, and indulge myself in the earthly pleasures of drinking, eating, sleeping and—” he pauses, waggling his right hand over at Merlin so he knows _exactly_ what his next word means. “—fucking.”

Merlin squeaks in response, and Arthur opens his mouth as if to give some lecture—Gwaine shuts them up by shouting ‘ _feel free to join me_ ’ over his shoulder, as he turns and enters the tent with a gallant flair of self-assurance.

Silence befalls the duo yet again, in such a way that things are always silent whenever Gwaine leaves the room. It’s peaceful, but also anxious—since they are both very well aware that Gwaine was being entirely serious about what should be occurring behind the thin veil of fabric. Merlin squirms in his seat, staring daggers into Arthur—who, in turn, pretends not to notice, taking a seat back near the fire.

Merlin continues watching, waiting for one of their limits of patience to run up. Neither are especially patient men, though, and Merlin is inevitably the one who breaks the quiet, clearing his throat. Arthur looks up exasperatedly, as though all his redeemable qualities were lost when dealing with Gwaine, and now he’s in an awful mood which Merlin always seems to be on the receiving end of.

“What is it?” Arthur asks, voice laced with venom and a snappy tone.

“I’m going to join him.”

Immediately, Arthur’s head snaps up, and he starts with saying ‘ _n—‘_ but he stops himself midway. He—well. He can’t say anything for Merlin’s preferences, and he supposes it’s not entirely shocking and _if_ he wants to fuck Gwaine and get away from the cold, then Arthur isn’t really one to say no one way or the other. He could make some claim that Gwaine is an honorable knight of Camelot and that Merlin is a lowly servant _but_. He knows better than anyone that the heart wants what the heart will want, and perhaps cocks work in a similar fashion.

His certainly is, but he says nothing.

“You don’t need permission,” he says finally, eyes fixing back on the fire for a distraction. He can see Merlin stand out of his peripheral, still clutching to _Gwaine’s_ cape like it’s his lifeline. He tries not to be jealous. It’s idiotic anyway—Arthur wants to punch himself for even thinking it.

Merlin looks as though there’s something he wants to say, but instead he slowly makes his way to the front of the tent, looking back at Arthur with an unreadable expression. He almost looks pained.

“I do hope you’ll be in the tent as well by the end of the night. For the—because of the cold, and all. A sick King must not be a very good one.”

And then there is one.

And Arthur is fine in solitude, really, fine off on his own and with no one tending to him. It’s strange of course, but being King ensures that he doesn’t have much time to be on his own. It’s nice, sort of. Of course, with the knowledge of what is probably happening behind the tent a few feet away—and he dares not be hopeful for it, really, _really_ —he’s not allowed to focus on much anything else.

But it’s silent. Silent enough that he thinks the other two men had fallen asleep automatically—but then he hears Merlin _giggle_ and wants to cut his ears off.

The giggling doesn’t stop and it’s torturous, painful really. Not that it’s a bad sound—it’s the opposite, really, and Arthur considers his pride as he hovers in front of the tent, arm stretched out to open it. He’ll peer in, he’ll tell them to shut up. And then he’ll pop right back out into the cold forest, and everything will be as it was. He is a _King_ and the King can control his desires.

Even if they’re strong. Very, very strong.

Without another thought, Arthur flings the opening to the tent open, breathing in a large gulp of air.

“ _Shu_ —“

He starts, but Merlin _laughs_ again, and now he can see for why.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No offense, but I got the tent first.” But it’s still in that carefree tone of his, joking and teasing in an obvious sort of way. “If you aren’t going to include me, you guys can go fuck off in the cold.”

Merlin is pinned to the ground, Gwaine laid atop him, slotted in between his open legs. Both of them lay shirtless, cheeks flushed, breath in rampant exhales—only Gwaine lays his mouth to Merlin’s neck, and his fingers cling barely to his sides, _tickling_ him. The mystery of Merlin’s laughs is solved, because from the looks of it, he is _very_ ticklish. Arthur tries not to focus on that.

“Oi, Merlin,” Gwaine nips up his jaw, flashing Arthur a smile and an all-knowing look. The cold air from outside had drawn his attention away from the body beneath him for the shortest of moments, but he’s quickly back to Merlin, sucking sweetly on the lobe of his ear. “It seems our King has finally decided to join us.”

There are thousands of words on Arthur’s lips—things he wants to say about _no_ he’s definitely _not_ joining them, and certainly not considering it. He’s not enjoying the sight, nor is he growing hard where he stands—mouth hung open, eyes wide. Merlin seems to flush harder beneath his gaze, fighting Gwaine with rougher movements—but still not fully interested in him _stopping_ because he loves the attention, craves more of it. He’s just embarrassed, being watched.

With Arthur’s tongue being tied comes Gwaine’s own personal amusement, and he bellows a laugh as he sucks on Merlin’s neck, hands ceasing their relentless tickles for the moment. Merlin heaves a few times, but all with a smile on his face, fighting very hard not to look at the King in the doorway—while in direct contrast, Arthur’s breath has been stolen from him and he bores his eyes into the pile o f his friends intimately pressed together.

“Merlin, Merlin,” Gwaine coos, _almost_ enough to be teasing, but it is instead love-filled, careful. “Don’t worry about our audience member, hm? Since he’s here, we’ll give him a show. Yes?”

The other two men both flush at the thought, and Gwaine takes that as consent of all parties. He grins, biting roughly at Merlin’s neck to mark him and make him squeal—before he moves to press their mouths together, tongues swirling around each other as Gwaine bites at his lips. Arthur releases an ‘ _oh_ ’ at the sight, trying to subtly sit without either of them noticing—but the grin on Gwaine’s face, damn him, says otherwise. It’s Arthur’s armor that’s making him so noticeable, so with half a sigh he starts peeling it off.

Which Gwaine understands as interest—yes, he can _see_ from his peripheral that Arthur is very interested, so he decides to give him something to look at. A hand that was steady on Merlin’s side moves to the front of his trousers to toy with the laces, mouth still decorating Merlin’s with lovely, sloppy little licks and receiving the gentlest moans of passion Gwaine thinks he’s ever heard. 

Merlin’s hard in his hand, but that’s not surprising. Something’s been poking at him since they started their little wrestle.

“ _Gwaine_ …”

Gwaine, in turn to the moan, giggles like a girl.

“D-don’t _laugh_ at me!”

“Apologies, my friend! It’s just that,” his hand start pumping around his cock, which his flushed scarlet and curved slightly, and Gwaine thinks it’s— “ _adorable_ , Merlin. You’re so cute.”

In tandem, Arthur and Merlin both let out and squeak, which Arthur plays off as a coughing fit. Gwaine can only smile at how _obvious_ they are, directing his kisses to Merlin’s chest.

“And it seems our King thinks so as well. Isn’t that right, Arthur? Merlin’s cute?”

Arthur just groans—and no one is convinced that it’s just from exasperation—sitting in the corner furthest away from the other two. But he’s still watching and Gwaine thinks that speaks multitudes—he doesn’t deny that Merlin is cute, so he’s _basically_ agreeing to it.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, nuzzling down Merlin’s chest and pressing soft kisses to his nipples and down his ribs. Merlin shifts his hands through Gwaine’s longer hair, tugging on it gently whenever he gets a rougher bite. “Look at our mighty King, Merlin. You’ve got him all hard, huh? Don’t look at me like that—it’s all you.”

Merlin is squirming more obviously at Gwaine’s words—but he does obey and look at Arthur, eyes glazed and blown in passion. There’s eye contact. Arthur wants to shy away but he’s hypnotized, confused at why he’s aroused, but also not at all because watching Merlin writhing like a virgin would make _anyone_ hard, Kings and knights included.

Gwaine, never one to let an opportunity pass him up, takes this prolonged eye contact as a sign that he should, again, give Arthur something to _look_ at. To tempt him with. He glides down Merlin’s body with the grace of a man who’s clearly done this before—and without hesitation, he takes the head of Merlin’s cock into his mouth, giving it a gentle suck that has Merlin squirming where he lays, moaning obscenely. 

“Now, Merlin,” Gwaine hums, kissing the tip of his dick fondly, and with each word. “Ask Arthur to join us. Ask him _nicely_.”

He takes him up in his mouth again, and Merlin nearly screams, hands knotting viciously in Gwaine’s hair, but being careful not to tug. His back arches delicately, head tipped back, and Gwaine is quick to lay his hands on the gentle curves of his sides, holding him steady.

“Arthur—Arthur _please_ —”

Arthur doesn’t remember standing, but he’s there. Looking at Merlin with wide, bright blue eyes—like he isn’t sure of what to do, but Merlin’s _cock_ is out, heated red and begging for attention from not one but _two_ and—

Well, he can’t really control himself anymore.

He’s going to regret this, he knows he is. But Arthur pads softly over, with Merlin’s eyes watching him closely. He kneels beside Gwaine, eyes finally breaking contact to gaze down at his cock—and while Gwaine takes the tip, he moves to suck at the base, pressing tentative lips to the stem of his dick. Merlin nearly loses it right then, but he gets himself back under control, moving one hand over to Arthur’s head to help stabilize himself.

Gwaine, after a few teasing sucks at the crown of Merlin’s cock, moves his lips off to the side of it, so he and Arthur can each suckle on their respective sides of his erection—and as Arthur moves up to take the tip of his prick, Gwaine chases after him and lures him into a kiss that tastes solely of Merlin.

This kiss isn’t anything sweet like what Gwaine and Merlin shared—it’s all tongue, all hasty lust and a struggle for the lead. And it’s a kiss that, if Merlin had spared it more than a moment’s glance, he’d be shooting all over both their cheeks. So the warlock bites his lip, head falling back on the ground, a hand moving up to cover the sinful blush of red on his cheeks.

Arthur and Gwaine tug and bite at each other, pulling brown and blond hair alike, gnawing their teeth between rosy, flushed lips and lick their tongues into each other’s mouth—until there becomes a necessity for air. Gwaine pulls back first. Arthur looks smug about it.

“Oh, _shut up_ ,” he says, slapping Arthur’s shoulder in a playful way—and nothing about this should be _playful_ , no, but Gwaine emits this energy that ultimately makes everything seem easier. Arthur’s mouth was just on his _servant’s_ cock, but he can’t do anything other than smile, shoving Gwaine back, and crawling up Merlin to kiss him on the mouth.

And Gwaine can only watch with a smile on his face, because _wow_ and also _cute_. The other two get very into it—and frankly, after watching them make out for a good five minutes, Gwaine is _bored_.

He clears his throat.

“No offense, but I got the tent first.” But it’s still in that carefree tone of his, joking and teasing in an obvious sort of way. “If you aren’t going to include me, you guys can go fuck off in the cold.”

Arthur smiles against Merlin’s lips, only going so far as to mouth at his neck, a hand pressing against his chest, flicking over his nipple. Merlin writhes.

“Why not involve yourself, Gwaine?” Merlin asks, after regaining himself from the intensity of the kiss he just shared with the _King_. He lifts a hand to hold at Gwaine’s thigh, tugging on his pants. “Or should I hold your hand and walk you through it?”

All three parties share a laugh at that—because thank you, but Gwaine needs _no_ help when it comes to fucking a person or two. With a slap meant to be somewhat alarming, Gwaine hits Arthur’s hip and hoots a laugh as Arthur bonks his forehead on Merlin’s chin.

“Merlin, I think the King is too clothed, hm?”

“Oh, I agree!” Merlin smiles something private over towards Gwaine, a hand bunching up at the back of Arthur’s shirt. “Sire, your shirt.”

Arthur flushes at that—but he ignores it, recovering from the slap with simple ease. He sits up and Merlin follows after—Arthur with his hands going up straight as they do when Merlin undresses him at the end of every evening. The difference today being that he isn’t going to be _re_ dressed anytime soon.

And Merlin knows the King’s body, but he’s never _known_ it—he knows how wide the height of his stomach grows (very wide), and how long his legs have grown (very long), but the finer details have gone amiss on him. His gaze stays downcast in the castle from Arthur’s flexing muscles, from the fair slant of his hips.

From the large ( _very_ large) bulge at the front of his pants.

But he strips him now, easily enough, and his shirt gets cast aside—both Merlin and Gwaine take this opportunity to marvel their King’s physique. Gwaine with kisses to his neck, and Merlin with his hands roaming over the plain of his chest, his stomach.

Gwaine hums.

“What is it?” Arthur asks impishly, a hand each on Merlin’s and Gwaine’s hip.

“ _Hm_ ,” he hums again, this time with a more obvious implication—suggesting the next words out of his mouth are going to be a joke. But when aren’t they, honestly? “No, I think he’s still too clothed. Merlin, don’t you agree?”

Evidently Merlin _does_ agree, because his hands are quick to relocate on the front ties of Arthur’s pants, unlacing them with the grace of a man who has done this many, _many_ times before. _But_ Gwaine grips Merlin’s cock, to make the task as difficult as he possibly can, and Merlin writhes, mouth leaning to latch on his lord’s neck, biting down his collarbone.

“Cute as all this foreplay is,” Gwaine says, whilst attending to his own laces. Merlin, after getting Arthur out of his, shoos his hands away and tends to Gwaine’s. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we?”

“What do you mean?” comes from Arthur, slipping unashamed from his breeches. Merlin’s hands shake on Gwaine’s groin, and Gwaine brushes some of his finger sweetly through his hair, tugging his pants to his hips.

“I’m keen to fuck something tonight, King,” he smoothly responds, and Merlin has to gasp at the _forcefulness_ of such a word. But Gwaine holds him sweetly and with love, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. Arthur scowls, but does nothing. “In fact, I think I’ll fuck Merlin. Jealous, Arthur?”

Yes, but he doesn’t say so, only grunting in response, fully prepared to go pout in the corner for the duration of Gwaine fucking Merlin. But, once again Gwaine laughs something boisterous, standing to rid himself of his pants, quickly pulling Merlin up to do to same to him.

“No, I think your King should take you, Merlin.”

“I—“ Merlin stutters a bit at that, not fully sure how he’s supposed to respond—unaware of what Arthur would like, if he’d even _want_ to be that close to a servant. Surely Gwaine is more well suited. “… Well, thank you for asking me, but I guess it would be Arthur’s decision, ultimately?”

Gwaine nods, turning his eyes up to Arthur in question—who, without a hint of reluctance, comes to press his bare self to Merlin’s bare self, back to chest, erection brushing teasingly across the curve of Merlin’s ass.

Gwaine laughs again, predictably.

“There’s your answer!” And he’s not shocked at all, to be perfectly honest, just gleeful at how ridiculously _adorable_ his company is tonight. “But since you’ll be taking him, Arthur, I’ll take the pleasure of preparing him for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeelloooo sorry I'M GOING TO POST ANOTHER CHAPTER WITH THE GOOD STUFF i just didn't want to make people wait too long with how slow i'm writing :c
> 
> come say hi on tumblr at ~reducefractions :>


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